


I’ve Got To See The Stars

by noifsandsorbees



Series: Stars and Sunrises [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 05:50:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4949017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noifsandsorbees/pseuds/noifsandsorbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She calls him at two in the morning. “Let’s get out of the city for a few hours.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’ve Got To See The Stars

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been walking around with the lyrics to Kill Hannah’s The Chase on my wrist all day and then this happened. It’s the first fluffy piece I’ve actually been able to complete, so feedback would be great. 
> 
> It's set late season six/early season seven. Post Unnatural, but before they’re together, or maybe after they’ve only kissed once or twice, but are clearly aware that something is changing. I’ll let you decide.

The phone rings just after 2 a.m. and somehow he knows it’s her, in that instinctual way that he can feel her enter a room or understand a novel’s worth of conversation with one raised eyebrow or an exaggerated _u_ in his name. 

“Hey,” he mumbles into the receiver. 

“Hi. It’s me,” She sounds peaceful; far away and calm. He imagines her lying in bed like him, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep but half dreaming already. “What are you up to?”

“Just trying to sleep.”

“Wanna hold off on that a bit?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s get out of the city for a few hours.”

“Scully, we just got back to the city this afternoon, or did you already forget about Indiana?”

She ignores him. “Pick me up in ten.”

“Okay.”

She’s waiting outside of her apartment when he gets there with a jumble of blankets in her arms and thermoses at her feet. He can barely see the top of her head over the pile of cotton and he doesn’t bother suppressing a smile.

“So where are we going?” He asks as she crawls into the passenger seat, pushing the mass into the back.

“West.”

And so they drive in silence, windows down and her hair flying in all directions. She makes no effort to pat it down and he can’t stop staring at her in cotton pajama pants and an FBI hoodie, her hand lingering dangerously close to his on the center console.

“Turn here,” she orders after an hour, when the beltway has turned to country and the city lights are miles and miles away. He leads the car down a dirt road for a short while before she tells him to stop at an open field.

She lets herself out of the car, and places a knee on the passenger seat to see into the back. Mulder watches as she wrestles with the pile of blankets and flies backward when they finally budge. She stumbles several feet, falls on her ass and breaks out laughing. He realizes he’s never seen her smile this wide.

“See, you can rewrite Einstein, Scully, but Newton isn’t going anywhere,” he teases, and grabs the thermoses from her seat while she rights herself.

“I don’t know Mulder. I’m still young, I’ve got time.”

He pulls the blankets from her arms and she refuses to let go; ridiculously, he thinks, he’s playing tug of war with Dana Scully at three in the morning. He hooks an arm around her waist and pulls her close, the blankets, half draped on the ground, keep a fluffy foot between them.

“You’re in a good mood tonight,” he laughs against her ear and she just smiles her ridiculous grin back up at him.

They pull apart and set the quilts down on the ground. Mulder settles near the middle and drapes another blanket over his legs. She follows with the two bottles and edges herself next to him; three people could fit on the other side of her, but her arm is flush against his, he realizes. 

Scully pulls the cap off one bottle and pours half a cup of coffee into the small mug. She reseals it, opens the other and adds a generous amount of liquid. She takes a sip and passes it to him, pressing a little closer.

“Well that explains everything,” he teases at the overwhelming taste of Baileys. She shakes her head.

“I didn’t have any before. I’m nearly offended that you assume I’m drunk.”

“I do apologize.” He passes the cup back, pulls the blanket over her legs and curls an arm around her as she settles comfortably against his side. 

“So Scully, what are we looking for? Meteor shower?” She shakes her head. “UFOs? Did I finally convert you?” He’s waggling his eyebrows at her and she rolls her eyes for show.

“I just needed to see the stars,” she eventually answers, her voice back to the dreamy state he heard on the phone. 

They finish another cup in silence before settling down on the blanket, her head tucked under his chin, arm sprawled on his chest. She tucks one leg over his and he laces his fingers through hers. He realizes that late-night, stargazing Scully is his new favorite Scully. Well, tied with early-morning-cranky Scully and eye-rolling, science-nerd Scully and gun-toting, ass-kicking badass Scully and really, every Scully.

“What’s your favorite constellation?” she whispers, interrupting his analysis.

“Honestly? I can’t name them,” he admits into her hair.

“That’s a surprise.” Her fingers have loosened from his just enough to draw a pattern over his heart; he wonders if she’s tracing her own favorite.

“I’ve always been too busy looking between the stars, not at them.”

She laughs. “I don’t know them either. I was relying on you.”

He tightens his grip on her hand and they fall back into a surreal silence. He makes a mental note to buy a book on astronomy tomorrow. 

When she looks back at him, he’s staring unabashedly at her and she lifts herself up on her side.

“Mulder.”

“Mmh?”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to decide if I should kiss you,” he responds simply.

“What’s stopping you?” she quips.

“Nothing.” He smiles and buries his head into her neck, nuzzling his nose against her.

“Good.” She smirks and lays back on his chest.


End file.
